A Life Between Us
by charlotteschaos
Summary: Will and Bran: It's always been Bran and it always will be. The story of how they get together in college.


It took only the gentle patter of light rain to stir Will from his not-dreaming, bringing him from a world of sailing ghost ships and lingering images of riders and trees back to the dullness of the dorm and the scratch of cheap bed linens.

Shadows from the weak light cast over the row of sociology books aligned with the aid of a particle board book case. The color of it was an unnatural orange shade that represented "wood" to some manufacturer who probably rarely poked his head out from his office. It was a curious representation of reality, but also the sort of false sense of being in touch with nature that people seemed to enjoy.

Will watched. Observed. Made notes.

Bran startled from his sleep, tawny eyes blinking in a slow resolution of recognition. Patterns. Head to shoulders, dark hair, stretch of bed linens; dorm room, Will everything is fine.

Sometimes it takes fully twenty minutes for Bran to come back to reality; his dreaming is so intense. Will wishes that he could rationalize the use of his power to see what he dreams. _Do you dream of me, Bran? Do you remember?_

All memories, their fantastical adventures, how close they'd become had been shunted away to dark spaces; those moments of day and night dream. Bran was the only one who could even know Will that way, and in his waking hours, Bran couldn't remember who he really was. It was a slow torture to stay with Bran, to watch him study; head full of sociology to read up on a world that he never really belong to without the understanding of why he was on the outside.

The way Bran looked at him that morning, for a split second Will thought he remembered. Will's breath caught, and he froze. His heart raced at the dawning recognition on Bran's face, the wisdom spreading over his visage like a slow-burning fire. Will tried not to move, taking breaths in shallow gasps, feeling the intense longing to be able to share it with Bran, to talk about everything, to sweep him away from all of this.

But then Bran blinked, his muzzy thoughts fading as he shook his head and pushed his pale hair from his shining face. "I'm famished."

Biting back disappointment with lips pressed together to keep from screaming in irritation, Will nodded and rolled out of bed to get ready.

* * *

"I was thinking of Jane," said Bran after a quiet breakfast mostly spent reading a text over soggy cornflakes. Will had spent the time watching for a glimmer of anything akin to that keen understanding that Bran had that morning, but it seemed all but gone. He ignored the disappointment to concentrate on the conversation.

"Oh? What were you thinking?" Will pulled his history book tighter to his chest. Watching Bran date her in their teen years had been painful, not just because of what he'd wanted for himself, but seeing how Bran was with her; seeing that smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"Jane, Jane, Jenny-oh," Bran sang in a mercurial swing of whimsy as he turned them towards the library. The nickname rankled Will, reminded him of a familiarity Bran struck up with her after the loss of memory had left him blank on how close they'd been. "Don't recall what I was thinking, exactly. Just remembered her in a dream. You were in it as well, but... I don't remember what anyone was doing."

Will stopped short, the longing driving him to stillness. It took the wind out of him to not be able to say all of the things he wanted to, to keep from bending magic and the force of the Higher Magic of love to break down that wall between Bran's dream and reality to show him all that Will wanted from him, needed from him.

Rain interrupted his thoughts, killing the winding wind that had started to swirl about him by spattering on his nose, then dribbling down his hair. It came out of nowhere, hard and fast causing squeals of irritation around the commons as students dashed for shelter. Will turned his face to see Bran looking straight into it, amber eyes brightly focused at the dark skies. Echoes of Herne and Arthur and just what Bran was reverberated from his placid face and Will wondered, as he often did, if Bran could feel it too.

When Will finished his reverie, Bran was looking at him, his silvery hair speckled with sparkling droplets of water like a crown, making him appear like a fairy tale prince misplaced in the simple clothing of modern times. Will gazed at him, picturing him in another time in front of his rightful throne, commanding his court.

"Sometimes I wish I could see inside of your head, _boyo_," said Bran, his smile verging on arrogant as he lifted his chin. He seemed to know just how to catch the light to make him shimmer. Even without knowledge of magic, Bran was magical, radiant. "Thinking of Jane?"

"No," said Will breathily. Never had he resented their disconnect more than he did now. "Just wish you could see into my head sometimes."

Bran's smile faded slightly and he tilted his head, eyes working complex maths somewhere just beyond reach, sussing out some unfathomable truth. Reaching some conclusion, Bran's eyes deadened and his gaze fell to the concrete, speckling due to the rain that was quickly being overtaken by darker dots as the moisture connected and spread to give the ground a light sheen. "We should get inside before we catch a chill."

Nodding, Will followed him into the library.

* * *

"I can't get warm," said Bran, before sipping his chocolate.

Will sat on the edge of his bed and pushed the covers up around him, wishing that he'd had the good sense to go into the library before they'd gotten so wet. Now that they were back in their dorm room, he was left with covers and chocolate to warm Bran. "Drink your chocolate. That will help."

"I wish there was a fire," said Bran, looking around as if mentally placing where a fire might be.

There was no space for such a thing now, of course, but as Will turned his head, he flipped through the veils of time and space, steadying in on a time when this dorm was a long house filled with a family of farmers; an arranged marriage like a corporation to work the land for their living. There had been a fireplace in the corner, a few feet from where his bed was. It took restraint to not just take them there, to allow Bran to sit by the fire and warm his lips from blue to pink again, but Will couldn't do that, not now. What he could do was allow some of that warmth to radiate from the corner through the dimensions, heating the room by a few degrees.

Bran slowly turned his head in the direction of where the fire would have been, his brows furrowed in confusion. Then, he looked at Will, lips slightly parted, with a dribble of chocolate on his bottom lip. He licked it away and then stared into the cup.

"See, the chocolate helps," said Will, feeling an edge of nervousness that Bran might've figured out what was happening. Or perhaps he was concerned that he hadn't.

Bran continued to stare into his cup for longer than seemed comfortable and finally said, "I think I've a fever."

Will nodded, watching Bran press his hand against his own forehead. When he moved it, Will tested the heat of his forehead for himself, closing his eyes at the warmth and intimacy of the contact. Feeling the silken skin as he pressed his lips together, he concentrated on deciding whether the heat was normal or not. He did feel a bit warm, but then it also felt as if Bran was trembling.

"You do seem a little warm." Will took the chocolate that Bran handed to him, setting it on the nightstand before turning his attention back to Bran.

"It's cold." Bran shifted uneasily and then wriggled back against the wall, making room for Will as he snuggled in under the covers, avoiding Will's eyes. "I read that when someone is cold that... sometimes if someone else gets under the covers with them... they get warmer faster."

Will studied the crafty intent in Bran's eyes until Bran averted his gaze and then closed his eyes, leaving Will no room to disagree. Toeing off his shoes, Will snuggled in under the covers behind him.

Though there were so many questions Will wanted to ask, answers were so often so disappointingly mortal, and right now his mind and body were singing with the warmth of contact. Perhaps he'd denied himself touch for too long, but there was no one else that he could bear this with, no one else with whom he felt this connection, no matter how brief.

"She didn't want me, you know. Not really," said Bran, so quietly that it took Will a moment to sort out the truth of hearing or wanting to hear.

"What? Who, Jane?" asked Will. Tentatively, he rested his hand on Bran's side, expecting to be shifted against or moved away in some manner. But his hand was allowed to stay, resting against the thin cotton of Bran's t-shirt.

"Her eyes were on me, but I think she wanted someone to talk about you with." Bran spoke, but the words were distant, rehearsed, words that came from somewhere within him that was full of shame, regret, perhaps even dread. He spoke from his soul, from deep within himself, a truth that was beyond understanding, beyond magic. Will rested his forehead against the back of Bran's head, taking in the strange musk of Bran and the campus shower soap.

"You loved her?" asked Will, wanting so much to ease the pain in Bran, take away that feeling of rejection. He could feel all that Bran felt, how he alternately felt better than those around him and insufficient. i You do not belong to this age, you are so far above them and you couldn't know, shouldn't know that. /i Winding his hand over Bran's belly, he pulled him closer, pressing his chest to Bran's back and feeling the weight of him against him in soft surrender.

"I thought I did." Bran sounded a million miles away and Will wished he could pull him back, center him here, hold him to this world as he'd chosen, but fate worked its ill will upon everyone. Before Will had met him Bran had been an outcast and after his choice to remain in this world, it had never changed. Will mused that he had stayed for Owen, had followed Jon's example. The Lady had certainly made it seem the wise choice, but even then Will had recognised the sacrifice, perhaps beyond what a twelve-year-old should have. He always wondered if Bran fully comprehended what he had given up. "I don't know. We were so young."

Will petted Bran's hair, watching it cascade through his fingers like sand through an hourglass; each thread of white strand signifying some choice, some sacrifice, amongst the sundry compromises that had led them to this place. He felt the warmth of the fire that spoke through time against his back, the magic he could summon at will, that once Bran could feel and seemingly felt now. He wanted it back, that connection, that ability to know what Bran thought before Bran thought it and the surprise when he came up with something better, beyond Will's imagining. "And now?"

But Will wouldn't get an answer, as Bran had drifted off in the comfort of warmth and soft stroking. His breath was regular and slow, his eyes closed and there was an easy slackness to his face. Will debated moving to his own cot, but it seemed so cold and far away now, so he remained, resting his fingers in Bran's hair, his other hand wrapped around his waist. After all, he'd been invited.

At first, Will wasn't sure what he was seeing. Will and Bran were on the hill, listening to Merriman's parting words, the speech he'd given them before he'd taken Bran's memories. Simon, Jane, and Barney were missing from the grouping, but it was unmistakably the same night. The air was charged with the last traces of magic from the final conflict. The wind felt the same, but they were their current age, and not the children they had been.

Bran stood with his shoulders back, his chin up, proud of what they'd accomplished, but he looked tired. Had they been this tired before, or did it mean something new? Bran gave his final long hug goodbye to Merriman and watched with a strange detachment as Will hugged him. Then Merriman started his familiar walk up the mountain, his white hair rippled by the wind.

"You're here," said Bran, his head tilted.

"Do you see this a lot?" Will gestured over the mountains and the scene before them. As he realized what would come next, Will panicked and froze the dream time around them, surprised that he could do it. He wasn't sure if this was his dream or Bran's and given the perplexed expression on Bran's face, he wasn't sure either.

"Sometimes." Bran looked over his shoulder at the still form of Merriman and then back to Will. "Do I belong here? Isn't this... I've been here before, only with Jenny and Simon and Barney... and you?"

Will took a step back, not sure if his want was forcing this issue. He nodded. It was a dream, after all, and they_had_ been here in the waking mortal world.

"You try so hard to be good, don't you, Will? To do what is right? That's what the Light would have you do, isn't it?" Bran sounded bitter in spite of his neutral expression.

It took a moment to measure out the right words. There were wise words, right words to say, but Bran, even not magical, would know them as a party line. "I do what I do to respect what you asked for."

Bran's eyes widened in realization, and he searched Will's face, scrying for truth beyond his words. "There were so many reasons to stay."

"Owen and John..." started Will.

For a moment, Bran looked petulant, but then his greater wisdom took over and he nodded slowly. "And you."

"I could've visited you outside of time..." said Will, suddenly realizing all he'd given away. He searched for forgiveness in Bran's eyes.

"It would've taken you from your family, too. You had a good life, a normal life. I had... well, you came in the summers and made me feel as real as my dreams do. I just don't know why." Bran pushed Will's dark hair back from his face and offered him a weak smile.

"Do you know now? Do you remember?" Will took a step closer to Bran, feeling shakily nervous about being this close to him, even though he yearned for the familiarity of contact now that he was so disoriented.

"I remember for a few moments every night... until he," Bran gestured to the lanky figure of Merriman behind him, "leaves. Then I lose it all again, but for the need to know you."

"You know how strong we were together. How... we knew each other's minds," said Will, daring to step just a little closer, closing the last of the distance. He risked sliding his hands onto Bran's waist and was rewarded by Bran leaning into him and encircling his body in the dead calm of the stilled dream.

"We still know each other's minds. You are holding back and I don't understand why." Bran was so close that Will could feel his breath against his lips; could feel and smell him in the ways he'd only ever dreamed of before. Ways that pushed past the boundaries of their friendship, but then their friendship had always gone past what others considered normal.

They were both old souls, both caught beyond their age and experience. Even without the memories of what they were, Bran had always been who he was; the albino boy who made the superstitious Welsh nervous. The boy who would study the world he didn't understand, looking for his place in it. Will could've saved him some time and frustration; Bran's place was with him.

"Is this a dream?" asked Will, staring deeply into Bran's golden eyes, willing their riddles to resolve, to give him sense and purpose of what was right. If this were all his imagining, then he could ruin the world that Bran wanted for himself. "Or is it happening?"

"Yes," said Bran as he leaned in, tracing two fingers along Will's jaw line, propping his mouth up for him to lean in and press his own lips against.

For a moment, Will just stood there in shock, feeling the nervous energy from Bran, which somehow calmed him. If Bran was nervous, than he took it as seriously as Will did. They kneaded their lips together softly for a moment before Bran parted his lips, mouthing against Will's lips.

The ante upped, Will carefully stroked his tongue against Bran's bottom lip, feeling almost immediately the return brush of Bran's tongue, leaving them to tenderly mingle bottom lips as their tongues swept and caressed one another in a new yet familiar greeting.

Their bodies pressed together, all rough angles and hard planes and not at all the soft squidgey things that he'd chanced with Jane on one mad summer night. Will opened his eyes, just to be sure that it was really Bran there and that things didn't change as often dreams will do without notice.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught movement near the mountain and felt the soft breeze kick up again. Merriman stood with his hands on his hips, grinning and nodding at Will. He gave his signature wave, which Will returned, smiling into his kiss with Bran.

Then, as is the will of dreams and magic when it is breaking, the scene faded to a muddled grey, then sharpened into a darkened room, lightening with the first rays of dawn on a muggy day. The dream had extended to reality and Will found himself on his side on the bed, still kissing Bran.

Cupping the side of Bran's face, Will caressed his cheek with his thumb, slowly breaking their snog with reticent soft pecks, not wanting the moment to pass, just in case it couldn't happen again.

Will's lips felt tender from the long kiss. As one unfamiliar with giving or receiving them, it felt awkward, but it was a feeling he could definitely get used to.

Bran slowly opened his eyes again. For a second, Will fretted that he would realize what he'd done, what they'd been doing and that he'd bolt. Instead, Bran smiled.

And it reached his eyes.


End file.
